


Five Times Sherlock had his Bail Posted (and once the person who would've bailed was in with him.)

by Jemisard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drugs, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemisard/pseuds/Jemisard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Sherlock had his Bail Posted (and once the person who would've bailed was in with him.)

1.

 

"Holmes household, Miss Ellis speaking."

 

"Miss Ellis, it's Victor Taylor-Sterling from-"

 

"Yes, Mr Taylor-Sterling. What's he done this time?" She didn't even attempt to conceal the long suffering tone from her voice. "Suspension or detention?"

 

"Miss Ellis... Annie. I'm afraid it's more serious than that this time." His voice was heavy.

 

"Oh God. Don't tell me he's been expelled."

 

"Expulsion is a matter we will have to discuss with his parents. Right now, you should go to the police station."

 

"The police station?! Oh God, they're going to fire me, they're going to fire me." She slammed the phone down and grabbed her coat and the car keys, running for the front door.

 

Her mad drive down there did nothing to prepare for the situation. Two officers were sitting with her charge, a young DC who was trying to offer him a glass of milk and an older, tired looking man who was covered in some of the soot and ash no doubt dislodged from the burnt school uniform when they were trying to get him down here.

 

Then he looked up, pale eyes locking on hers. He didn't say anything to her, just watched her for a moment before looking out over to the side again.

 

"You're his mother?"

 

"No." He answered before she could. "Mother will be busy. Miss Ellis is my nanny. And will no doubt be posting my bail."

 

"Bail?!" She looked at him. "Sherlock, what did you do?"

 

He didn't look up at her. "It was an experiment into thermodynamics."

 

"He blew up several fire hydrants. And a bin. And Mrs Pearson's scooter."

 

She looked to Sherlock in horror.

 

"Experiment," he said plainly.

2.

  
He sat in a cell, staring at the wall, trying to ignore the voices from outside. His legs were crossed at the ankles, stretched out along the bed. Notes on the wall, five different hand writings, one repeat offender in various states of sobriety, one neo nazi of limited linguistic education, doubtful intelligence and an improbable understanding of anatomy, probably a stay of no more than four hours while he was here judging by how prolific he was. The pen hadn't dried before he was doing the next, smudging it.

He sighed when he heard the door unlocked, but didn't bother to straighten or look. He recognised his father's footsteps from down the hall, and those of his arresting officer.

 

"Sherlock, what do you think you were doing, breaking into that house?"

 

"I was breaking into it, clearly. I wished to gain entry and was unable to do so through conventional means."

 

"Why, boy?" His father stared down at him. "Why do it? It's not like you need the money or goods."

 

Sherlock actually laughed, a bitter sound. "Money? You think I entered for something as petty as _theft?_  What would I do with stolen goods? What possible interest could I have in theft?"

 

"Then why?!" He was pure exasperation. "Why do it?"

 

He shrugged a little. "To see if I could. Of course."

 

"Sherlock, you have to stop with this reckless behaviour."

 

Sherlock said nothing, but followed his father out to have his bail cleared.

3.

  
He knew his id was good enough to fool any common police officer. He had all the right information, all the paperwork, everything that should have let him just waltz into the halls of government unchecked.

He was thrown unceremoniously into a darkened room, the door slammed behind him. He got to his feet, leaning against the door. "What am I charged with? You have to charge me if you're going to hold me, I work here, dammit!"

 

"No, my dear boy, you don't."

 

Sherlock paused and straightened, looking back but not far enough to actually turn his body. "Ah."

 

"Ah, indeed." He listened to expensive shoes tap over the wood floor. "Really, Sherlock, what _were_  you thinking?"

 

He looked back to the door, tipping his head back and smothering his sigh. "Clearly, that I could impersonate you without anyone of any importance noticing until such a time as I had uncovered what you were up to."

 

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock." Heavy hands landed on his shoulders. "What are we going to do with you?"

 

"I imagine you're going to tell Mummy what a disappointment I am and console yourself with a couple more cream buns. Really, how much weight _have_  you put on?"

 

"You can't tell? I'm disappointed."

 

"From just your hands... Twenty two kilos since last Christmas."

 

The sulky silence suggested he was right. He smirked.

 

"You know, Sherlock, I think maybe you should spend a few days in Her Majesty's company."

 

"What a shock. Then no doubt you'll come bail me out once you've been officially notified that I'm in custody."

 

"Of course," Mycroft virtually purred. "Until then, Sherlock." The hand lifted from Sherlock's shoulders and footsteps retreated before a door shut.

 

The door in front of him opened and Sherlock sighed, offering his wrists.

4.

  
He spun in a circle, trying to fight the hands off of his body. "No, you're not listening! Would you unhand me, you neanderthals, I'm trying to explain the basic elements of a murder inquiry to cretins who have apparently finished basic training without actually learning the first thing about manning an investigation!"

Lestrade sighed as the cell door was shut, Donovan peering in to make sure their guest was holed up safely.

 

"Ingrates!"

 

She slammed it shut, cutting off his ranting. "He's fine."

 

Lestrade sighed again, moving to the office, away from the cell block. "Now, explain to me again what happened, Donovan."

 

"There's nothing more I can say, sir. He came charging onto the scene, straight through the posted officers, grabbed the hand and licked its fingers." She pulled a revolted face. "Freak. Then he said that we were all idiots, a simpleton could figure it out and asked why we were wasting time on the site when we had a murderer to catch."

 

"And you still do, Donovan. Back to work." He watched her go and then went back to his office. 

  
His phone rang. He picked it up. "Lestrade."

"Inspector Lestrade." The woman's voice was clipped and distracted. "You have one Sherlock Holmes in your cells. His bail is posted. There is a black car out the front. You will escort him to this car and see him safely inside. He will then stop being your problem. I hope you understand." The phone disconnected.

 

He looked at his phone. And the intercom buzzed. He hit it irritably. "What?!"

  
"Sir, someone has posted bail for Holmes."

He let the button go and finally hung up the phone. Standing, he moved to the cells again, unlocking Holmes' and looking in. "If I were to ask who did it, would you explain?"

 

The gaunt young man looked up, pale gaze piercingly bright. "Are you really so slow, Inspector Lestrade?"

 

"Pretend I am. Who did it?"

 

"The hand smells of-"

 

"I don't want the explanation. Just who."

 

He huffed. "Whoever cooked raspberry tarts that day."

  
Lestrade considered this. "Your bail's been posted. There's a car waiting for you."

Sherlock smirked to himself and stood up, bushing off his coat and stalking ahead to Lestrade like a cat with wounded pride.

5.

  
The crumpled heap in the cell's corner hardly looked capable of movement, let alone the levels of violence that had been executed upon Her Majesty's finest a few hours earlier.

Lestrade looked at Addison, the arresting officer. "Class A substance?"

 

"Cocaine. He tried to purchase from an undercover officer, resisted arrest, assaulted two officers-"

 

"I get the point," he said in a tired voice. "His bail has been set, I assume?"

  
"Bail's been set, but his family said they're not paying his way out of this one. I think they're hoping that a bit of time in the cells will wake him up to the reality of these constant arrests."

Lestrade couldn't say they were _constant_  but the young man certainly had a record longer than most families would be happy with, especially a well to do family like his.

 

He also knew time inside was not going to help Sherlock Holmes. Drive him crazier, probably, but he was delicate and refined and pretty. And just as likely to come out with ideas for alleviating his boredom not by helping the police 'spot the obvious' but using those not inconsiderable smarts to keep the police chasing after him.

 

"I'm posting bail."

 

"You're... dear god, man, why? He's a coke-head!"

  
Lestrade looked back into the cell. "Because... God help the world if he sobers up angry."

  


+1

 

"I hate you."

 

"No you don't," Sherlock said smugly. "If you hated me, you would have refused to come with me when I said I was going to break into the manor house. Which you didn't. Instead you said, Sherlock, that's illegal, as though I was somehow unaware of the fact that we were trespassing with intent to commit break and enter and that that act is illegal. I have been arrested for this before, you know."

 

John buried his head in his hands. "You're right," he groaned. "I hate myself. I must. It's the only thing that explains why I keep letting you talk me into these things."

  
Sherlock laughed. "Cheer up, John! If we hadn't done this, we might be stuck at home, listening to the kitchen tap drip and the furnace creak, bored out of our minds!"

John gave him a resentful look. "I've changed my mind. I definitely hate you, not me."

 

"Are you honestly telling me you'd sooner have spent an evening watching mediocre television rather than running from guard dogs, climbing chapel spires and leaping across rooftops."

 

"Yes!" John held Sherlock's gaze.

 

The silence stretched between them.

 

As one, they started laughing.

 

"The look on the maid's face when we came out of the chimney..." John wheezed and Sherlock just smiled wider.

 

Someone would post their bail eventually. There was no rush.

  



End file.
